


Pulled Taut

by GaHoolianGirl, GrammarNazi



Category: BioWare - Fandom, Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Bondage, Bottom!Zevran, Dom!Zevran, Game-Typical Graphic Violence, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Riding, THE NERDS, they love each other but no body wants to admit it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 21:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7284859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaHoolianGirl/pseuds/GaHoolianGirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrammarNazi/pseuds/GrammarNazi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a gruesome battle, Cyriel Mahariel is left shaken. Zevran knows just what to do to make him forget his duties and troubles...</p><p>Written by GrammarNazi, Idea and editing by GaHooliangirl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulled Taut

**Author's Note:**

> The fic prompt/original idea and the wonderful character of Cyriel Mahariel belong to my buddy, you can find her at: [her tumblr](http://gahooliangirl.tumblr.com/) or [her A03](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GaHoolianGirl/pseuds/GaHoolianGirl)  
> I worked with her on this after taking an interest in a fic idea she had; I wrote it, and we edited it jointly. :)

The battle was a visceral, overwhelming, bloody thing. Cyriel had been traveling a quiet road with a few of his companions when his veins began to sting and the prescence of darkspawn became known. Unsheathing his swords and signaling the others to do the same, he thought he was prepared for the oncoming darkspawn -- until they burst from the ground underneath his feet, clawing hands reaching for him and creatures coming forth in all directions. Hardly able to keep his footing and shaken by the ambush, Cyriel narrowly avoided decapitation, and only one of Leliana's well-aimed arrows stopped a rear attack. In the haze of the rising dust and roaring cries of the darkspawn, it was hard to see an end to the fighting.

It was in battles like this that Cyriel found himself lost to the ever-present expectations of being a Grey Warden, and specifically being one the only two Wardens in Ferelden. If he couldn't stay focused, stay perserverant, in scraps like these, how would he take on the hoard? How would he defeat the archdemon? There was a flood of darkspawn, their bile and taint overtaking Ferelden with every passing day. He was just one young man, after all, and a meek and retiring one at that.

And then he was snapped back to reality and out of his thoughts by Zevran's voice. He had called out his name, and as Cyriel looked in his direction, a dagger flew from his hand and settled with a splat in the skull of a charging Hurlock. It had been so close that the disgusting pitch-like ichor of its blood fell onto Cyriel's skin. The warmth and stench of the fluid almost made him want to wretch. Instead, he gripped his swords, white-knuckled, and desperately cut through the seemingly endless waves of darkspawn.

Finally, brutally, the fight was done. He stood amidst the scattered bodies of the darkspawn, piled up on each other and leaving pools of ichor on the broken ground, and felt his hands shake. Morrigan held her side, attempting to use what little healing spells she knew on herself to mend the gash in her hip. Leliana was dressing the wound with elfroot and bandages. As Cyriel took in the carnage, he met Zevran's eyes. The stare was charged and needy. The way he looked at Zevran said everything.

When they all arrived back at camp, barely breathing and covered in black blood, Wynne raced to Morrigan and helped her to a bedroll to treat her injury. The others washed their armors of the toils of the day and took turns taking baths in the lake. Cyriel was the last to bathe, slowly easing into the water. The sun was beggining to dip below the trees, and the late spring nights still had a chill in them. He let himself sink below the surface, drowning out the distant chatter of camp in the stillness of the pond and trying to distract himself with the easy feeling of being underwater. When he came up for a breath, he found that it had calmed him little; the unsurity of his mission and the looming threat of the blight were still at the front of his mind. He ran his fingers through his coppery hair and let out a sigh that shook his shoulders.

"Not enjoying your bath?" Zevran's voice was instantly recognizable, smooth and warm and accented.

He looked over his shoulder at the Crow, who was standing on the shore, and felt a flush crawl over his skin at the man's obvious appraisal of his bare torso. It was silly; he'd seen it all before, more than once, and done things to him that got him blushing like a bride at the mere memory. But he was still unused to the attention that Zevran gave him.  
"Not really," He replied, voice tense despite Zevran's presence. "Today was... harrowing. To say the least."  
"Come closer," Said Zevran quietly.

Cyriel stepped forward, the water lapping at his legs, trying to ignore the fact that he was naked. The other man, unexpectedly, didn't look away from his eyes as he approached.

"Yes?" Whispered Cyriel.

"Tell me," The assassin spoke with a tone that made a heat rise in his chest. "That look, after the battle. Was that what I thought it was?"

Cyriel gulped and opened his mouth to say something, but Zevran cut in first.

"Don't," He rushed. "If you're still willing, come to my tent when you're done. I will wait for you."

He turned and left, leaving behind a slight scent of the spiced Antivan soap he used. Cyriel stood knee-deep in the water, and, looking after him, decided he would be quick to finish his bath.

Hair damp and shirt slightly sticking to his skin, Cyriel surveyed the camp and was happy to find everyone busy or in their own tents. He edged along the tree line to Zevran's tent and quickly and quietly entered. An enchanted lantern was hanging from the wooden support, and the canvas floor was covered in soft blankets. Zevran was wearing an undershirt and his cotton pants. He was sitting in the side of the tent, a small bottle of oil tucked away in the corner.

"And so you arrive," He said, a smile in his voice. "I was hoping you would come."

Cyriel cleared his throat and sat himself down across from Zevran.

"Yes, I, um..." He looked at Zevran, who had an expression of anticipation on his face, honeyed eyes studying his movements. "I have been so- so preoccupied and worried lately. I can't get away from all of this. I need to forget about it, to have that burden off my shoulders for even a little while."

"I've noticed that in you. During the fight today, with that Hurlock -- Cyriel, you almost died. You just stopped in the middle of it and blanked out. I thought you might have been in shock, but you snapped out of it."

His face was riddled with concern, which was hastily replaced with one of his playful smirks.

"But enough about that," He murmered, moving closer to Cyriel, "That's what you want to forget, after all. I have just the thing."

Zevran was pushing him to lay flat on his back on the blankets, straddling his hips and setting his hands just above his shoulders. His straw-colored hair was worn loose, and it fell into his face as he looked down at Cyriel. He took a moment to admire the man underneath him, running a finger along his cheek and following the lines of the vallaslin that framed his jaw.

"You are a handsome man, my Warden."

He ran the pad of his thumb over the fullness of Cyriel's lower lip slowly and began to lean down towards him. Cyriel closed his eyes and parted his lips slightly, expecting a kiss, humming with anticipation.

But instead, Zevran's breath was hot against his neck and tickled his ear, and he dragged his tongue up the edge of Cyriel's pointed ear before whispering to him. The feeling brought on a tense shiver.

"You are mine tonight."

He inhaled sharply and opened his eyes to look up at his lover. There was a promise in his brandy-warm eyes, pupils wide in the dim light. Finding no resistance to this statement, Zevran fisted his hand into Cyriel's long hair, gripping it a little tightly before kissing him fiercely. It was all heat and tongues and teeth, and Zevran's brow furrowed with the intensity of it. He tasted of rosemary, and the assassin reveled in knowing the man under him was moaning into the kiss, nails digging into the flesh of his back.

Breaking apart for a moment's breath, Zevran took the opportunity to divest himself of his undershirt, and plunged his hands under Cyriel's shirt a second afterward. Soon, almost all of their clothing was strewn around the small tent.

Before undressing completely, however, Zev paused and reached into the far corner of the tent. Cyriel tried to see what he was doing, but the angle didn't allow it. As he returned to his original position, Zevran grabbed the Dalish man's hands and brought them over his head.

"Wha-" Cyriel started, but then a smooth strip of leather was looped around his wrist, and the realization made his heart skip a beat. A small gasp escaped him, and Zevran smiled wickedly as he tied the leather firmly together and then to the tent post.

"I said that you were mine," He murmured. Cyriel could feel his cheeks and body flush, testing the strength of the knots by tugging against them.

"Don't you like it?" Zev asked, a worry in his brow.

"It's- um," He found it difficult to finish a sentence. He could feel Zevran's presence, so close, but unreachable; and the easy bite of the leather on his skin when he fought them sent shocks of pleasure through him. He desperately tried to push his hips to meet Zevran's, but he couldn't reach, and his head dropped back defeatedly.

"Oh, fuck," He sighed, an aching need in his loins. While he had been half-hard before from Zevran's hungry kisses, the unexpected addition of the ties had made him so aroused it hurt.

"I take it you're alright, then." There was a laugh in his voice; it was a familiar sound.

"More than," Cyriel breathed.

At this, the Crow quickly untied the laces of Cyriel's pants and slid them down his legs.

"Mierda." His erection was tight, restrained in the smallclothes that still covered him. Zevran was taking in the sight of this unhindered, and he could feel his cheeks heating now. And then a gentle squeeze through the cotton, and his eyes rolled back, unconciously lifting his hips towards the sensation.

"Now, now. Patience, they say, is a virtue."

Though he couldn't see it, Cyriel knew that there would be a smirk on that attractive face. Zevran was now settled inbetween his legs, starting to pull at the sides of his smallclothes. The fabric strained against his length and finally slipped loose, leaving him utterly exposed to the appreciative eye of his lover. The feeling of his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin made him gasp. Zevran rewarded this with a sharp bite on his hip, licking the spot to help ease the pain. He left flowering bruises all across Cyriel's hips and along his inner thighs; the teasing pleasure was driving Cyriel mad. Zev gently fondled his balls, and a whine escaped him. He could feel the other man's smile as he placed a kiss just above the dusting of red hair that trailed lightly down his stomach.

Zev grew tired of the teasing. The sight of Cyriel's cock, fully hard and and beaded with pre-cum, was doing things to him that he would never admit. He longed to take it into his mouth, not just leave hickeys around it.

He pressed a searing, open-mouthed kiss the the base, and it set Cyriel's nerves on fire. He could feel his cock twitch.

Cyriel's hands struggled against the bindings, and his breath caught in his throat.

"Zevran."

It was little more than a sigh, but it sent a chill down the Antivan's spine.

"Yes, my Warden?"

He bit his lip, hips rocking upward in silent confession. His skin was burning with the heat of their bodies together, but it wasn't enough, and he sought to find the friction he needed.

"Oh, I'm afraid that won't do," Said Zevran in a low tone that pushed him even closer to the breaking point. "You'll have to tell me what you want, or you won't get it."

Needy though he was, Cyriel had a stubborn streak and a keen sense of embarrassment. Both of these things kept him from giving in to Zevran's setup so soon. He bit his lip and found himself tensing, trying to hold out for a while longer.

Zevran inwardly hoped that Cyriel would break quickly; he wasn't sure how much more he could take, either. He tried to focus on making him get right to the edge of desperation, and not the throbbing want of his own arousal.

He allowed himself to give Cyriel just enough of what he wanted. That it happened to be the same thing that made him ache with need was merely circumstantial -- or so he told himself.

The fire of his mouth enveloped Cyriel's cock, slowly taking in its full length. An involuntary shudder wracked the Dalish, and was accompanied by a long, low moan. The sound was so debauched that Zevran found the front of his smallclothes wet with pre-cum.

This only spurred him on. Hollowing his cheeks, he began to pull upward, only to drop to the base again quickly. Cyriel's hips snapped upward in response, making Zevran gag slightly around the head; the feeling left Cyriel weak with pleasure, eyes squeezing shut.

As a precaution, Zevran placed his hands firmly on Cyriel's hips. He swallowed, and he could feel the body underneath him writhe against his grip. Cyriel's breathing was so harsh that the sound filled the small tent.

Zevran was determined to make him break, and started to suck in earnest. Cyriel's hands shook, the leather keeping him from tangling his fingers in Zevran's hair, and way he was pressing his tongue against the ridge of the head was mind-numbing. He could hardly think, letting out a long string of broken swears as Zevran's nails bit into the flesh of his thigh.

"Oh, Creators, Zev," The cry was sudden, but not unexpected. At another time, he might have been embarrassed, but he needed it so much that he didn't care anymore. "Fuck me, please! Fuck me!"

Zevran didn't need encouragement. He pulled away, leaving Cyriel frustratingly untouched, and grabbed for the bottle of oil. He practically tore his own smallclothes off in his hurry, clambering over Cyriel and pouring out some oil into his hand to warm it. Satisfied with that, he slicked a generous amount over Cyriel's cock, drawing a gasp out of him.

Cyriel watched him as he began to use his fingers to circle around his own entrance, gently pressing an oiled finger inside. He was so beautiful like this, all rich brown skin and golden light; he was completely on display, back arched and the lines of his body all leading down to his erection. His lips parted slightly as he added another finger, a breathy whine escaping him and making Cyriel desperate. Even now he was teasing him, fingering himself in front of him but not even touching him -- he slipped in a third finger, and his brow furrowed, a high-pitched whimper tearing through the quiet air.

"Cyriel..." It was a raspy whisper, the tone of his voice absolutely filled with want. There was something dirty in the way he said his name, and the sound sent goosebumps over Cyriel's skin.

If his hands were not bound, he knew he would have snapped and simply ravished Zevran right then. But the leather not only kept his hands unusable, it also kept them in one place, as it was tied around the tent pole. There was no way he would get the release he wanted until Zevran let him.  
But he did, just a moment later.

"Cyriel," Zevran said again, a look of anticipation on his fine features, as there had been when he first ushered him into the tent. Removing his fingers, he positioned himself over Cyriel's hips and sank down onto his cock in one slow, smooth motion.

A cry burst from Cyriel's lips at the tightness around him; hot, and slick, and so good that his vision swam with the intensity of it. It was the first time that he wasn't recieving, and the sensation of being inside of him was overwhelming. Zevran sighed so deeply that his chest shook.

Without waiting more than a few seconds, he began to lift his hips and then dropped down again, slowly riding Cyriel and adjusting to the width of him. Cyriel simply let him fuck him, head thrown back and hands quivering.

"Oh, Zevran, I-"

"Hush." Looking at him, Cyriel saw the effort it took for him to say that without stumbling over his words. Zev bit his lip quickly, eyes shutting as he paused; Cyriel could feel him tightening, and it set every nerve in his body alight.

Zevran swallowed heavily and then continued his ministrations. His breath was ragged and hurried, muscles tensed, as he started to rock his hips again. Cyriel couldn't get enough of it -- the sight of him like this, above him and on him, cock absolutely dripping with precum. His skin was flushed with exertion and arousal, a thin trace of sweat on his brow.

Unsatisfied with the care that he put into the slow pace, Cyriel jerked his hips forward suddenly, causing almost a scream to tear from Zevran's mouth. He wanted him to break. He saw how the assassin trembled when he stopped himself from just ravaging him, and he wanted to be ravaged.

Zevran's whole posture was stiff, still humming with the aftershock of the thrust.

"I t-told you," He drew in a stifled breath, "That you would... be mine tonight." His jaw clenched as he tried to control his speech. "You defied my authority."

Cyriel held back a grin at the fact that Zevran was as undone as he was.

"We both want this, Zev," He rushed the words and begged them to come as smoothly as possible. "You want to be demanding of me," Just then, the leather moved a little on his wrist, digging into the skin and making him even weaker. "You -- oh -- want to be rough."

His eyebrows knotted slightly, and he nodded; somehow, Cyriel could detect embarrassment in his face. It made him want to see that more.

They locked eyes for a moment, gauging each other's willingness. Seemingly contented with Cyriel's eagerness, Zevran straightened his back and, without warning, dropped. He used his full weight behind it, the severity of it gripping Cyriel with bliss. Back arching, cock grinding further into his entry, he could feel his entire body trembling. A shiver coursed through him. As much as he wanted to grasp Zevran's slim hips, he was just as satisfied by the rasp of the leather on his wrist. Zevran began to move again, harder this time, his thighs slapping against Cyriel's. He bit down a groan as the feeling grew. Cyriel was moving in time with him, lifting his hips to meet his with a decided urgency.

Zevran dug his nails into the soft flesh of Cyriel's side, trying and failing to steady his breathing. He could feel himself unraveling, losing focus and control over the sensations.  
Looking at Cyriel underneath him, skin flushed and mouth silently forming pleading words, tied up for him; it was almost too much.

The wet noise of their bodies together and Cyriel's hard thrusts were only quiet when compared to their moans. Zevran's nails raked across Cyriel's stomach, his eyes rolled back almost completely. His cries faded into barely cohesive words, spoken softly as they fell from his lips like a prayer. They were a blend of Antivan and the King's Tongue, words not even finished before another one took its place. Cyriel could make out fragments of his name and whispered swears.

A sudden outburst from Zevran indicated that he was close. He quickly wrapped a hand around his throbbing length and began pumping it, desperation in his movements. His thighs shook with the effort of keeping rythm, and Cyriel could feel him tighten maddeningly around his cock.

Cyriel was losing control over his thoughts just as much as he was losing control of the needy bucking of his hips. Vision blurring, breath harsh, mind racing; he could feel the intensity building as light began to prick beneath his eyelids. The noises coming from him now sounded far away, the ecstasy seizing his nerves the only thing he could focus on.

Zevran saw Cyriel writhe beneath him, eyes clenched shut. His moans were heady, and only sealed the fact that he was on the edge of release. Zev pushed himself harder, hand deftly squeezing his own erection as he, too, could make out the telltale grip of pleasure forming in his gut.

"Ah, fuck, Zev-" Cyriel's words stopped abruptly as he gasped, rutting again and again. He bit his lip hard, pulling against the ties in his motion. Shivers ran over his skin as he felt the heat and overbearing pressure in the head, so close, so close... His back arched suddenly, and Zevran let out a mangled whimper at the sensation.

His eyes were heavy lidded, breath coming in shuddering pants. Tensing around Cyriel's twitching member, he desperately tried to stop the undeniable surge -- Cyriel should cum first -- but nothing could hold it back now. Hands shaking, Zevran threw his head back and let the bliss tear through him. The mounting pressure finally broke, and he called out as he spilled his cum over Cyriel's bare chest.

At this, there had been a shout of his name through the relative quiet of the tent as Cyriel's orgasm wracked his body. Hot, and tight, and stunning, he released inside of Zevran with nothing in his mind but this consuming feeling. The shocks of it starting to subside, but still gripping him, he began to speak without control.

"Zev, I --" Quickly, as fast as possible, he bit his lip to stem the words. The thought could not roll off his tongue. 'Zev, I love you.'

He simply sighed and lay still, lungs aching for air, trying to regain stability after the high. Zevran weakly disentangled himself and collapsed on top of Cyriel, despite the mess.  
"Are you... going... to untie me?" Cyriel managed between ragged inhalations.

"Mmph." Zev had his face shoved into the crook of Cyriel's neck. Resentfully, he pushed himself forward and untied the binding with stumbling fingers. He threw the strip of leather into a corner of the tent and settled back into his relaxed state, draping himself over Cyriel dramatically.

"That was --"

"Incredible," Cyriel finished, wrapping his arms around his lover.

"Yes."

They lay there in the quiet haze of afterglow and let the world fall away. Zevran absentmindedly left soft kisses on Cyriel's cheek. Cyriel stroked his hair. In the gentle rythm of their breaths and their heartbeats, they found a bit of peace, and sleep had nearly taken them when Cyriel spoke in a low voice.

"Could we do something about the mess...?"

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh! It's finished! This was so fun to work with but omg if the ending wasn't one of the most difficult things I've ever written, then I don't know what is. They're so cute though.
> 
> -'Mierda' is 'shit' in Spanish just fyi  
> -I had my sister look up synonyms for "loins" bc I couldn't think of any and I wasn't happy with the term at first; all that came up was different kinds of food and after laughing hysterically I gave up and went w/it.  
> -Writing this fic made me think about elf butts and I'd just like to formally thank god for elf butts  
> -The poor people in camp. Zevran may have set up his tent on the far side of camp on purpose but those boys reach a point where the folks in Denerim could probably hear them let alone those in camp
> 
> GaHoolianGirl here! I am eternally grateful to my friend for writing it, and I hope you all enjoy it!


End file.
